


Support System

by Lyre (Lyrecho)



Category: Genei Ibun Roku #FE | Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE
Genre: Canon Compliant, For The Sessions In Stardom TMS Zine!, Gen, Oneshot, Touma/Itsuki Can Be Read As Platonic or Pre-Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Lyre
Summary: Touma's spent so long trying to keep his friends safe that he'd forgotten they're there to support him, too.|Tumblr||Twitter|
Relationships: Akagi Touma & Aoi Itsuki
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Support System

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [_Sessions In Stardom_](https://twitter.com/TMSFE_Zine) Tokyo Mirage Session zine.
> 
> (Fun Fact! This is my 100th posted fic on AO3!)

[you free?] Itsuki sends, just after school lets out for the day. He knows Touma's work schedule better than Touma himself does, at this point -- he knows Touma, for once, won't be on set.

It's painful to turn him down, but it's what Touma has to do.

[sorry man,] he types. [maybe next time?]

[sure!!!] Itsuki writes back, and Touma blinks, because that isn't how Itsuki writes at all -- [itsuki and i will just have to have fun without you!] A glittery, winking sticker is sent after the second message, and Touma has to sigh. _Ah,_ he thinks. _Tsubasa._

As much as the thought is filled with fond exasperation, her words hit deep, and guilt stirs. A pang of loneliness hits.

_ You could take a break, Touma, _ Cain whispers.  _ You have been working hard. It would not do to overwork yourself. _ An image of Itsuki, in the back of his mind, as Cain's melancholy lingers.  _ It would not do, _ he says, pointed,  _ to abandon a brother in arms. _

"Itsuki isn't exactly my brother in arms," Touma points out, crossing his arms, and a chuckle echoes out, flickers of red in the corners of his vision. Cain can't manifest out here, in Tokyo, not really -- but there's some part of Touma that can always see his mirage. "That's the whole point of me fighting like this anyway, you know? To keep people -- and my friends -- safe. So they won't have to fight."

_ I am aware, Touma, _ Cain says, teasing and warm,  _ but irregardless of technicalities, my words ring true. _ That melancholy flash of Itsuki, but with Tsubasa by his side, and overlaid with the hazy, out of focus image of a half-forgotten smiling man in green armour.  _ Don't push away the people you love, Touma. When you're fighting like this --  _ living  _ like this -- you never know just how long you'll have with them. _

Cain’s longing and frustration is clear in his voice as he lingers for just a moment longer on that most important person he just can’t fully recall no matter how hard he tries. Touma pauses. Swallows. "I know," he says. Again, softer, "I know."

_ Knowing, _ Cain tells him,  _ is not the same as understanding. _

And, well - Touma knows that, too, but there’s no time to ponder on that thought, because maybe he’s not on set today, but regardless of what Itsuki thinks, out of the loop and  _ safe, _ he  _ does _ have a booked out schedule.

“C’mon, Cain,” he sighs. “Let’s get to work.”

The next few days are filled with much of the same -- dodging Itsuki and Tsubasa when he has to, when he  _ can, _ and feeling horribly guilty about it; Cain’s words after these situations caught somewhere between a lecture and support.

It gets to the point that his double-life is impacting negatively on his grades; they’ve never really been the greatest, stuck firmly somewhere in the middle of dead average, but as his scores continue to drop and drop, Touma has to acknowledge that he’s not just having a bad week.

Itsuki’s frowns and disgruntled glares being exchanged for worry and concerned glances is what really solidifies that, so Touma sighs, mentally readjusts his schedule, and then tries to ignore how much  _ smug _ Cain radiates in the back of his mind when Touma finally admits that his Mirage is right, and he needs a break.

(Homework doesn’t really sound like much of a  _ break, _ to Touma, but Itsuki seems so deliriously happy about Touma organising a study date for them that he almost forgets that homework is absolutely what they’re going to be doing.)

Touma’s right in his thoughts that a study date with Itsuki and Tsubasa is absolutely not a break -- Itsuki is surprisingly bossy when it comes to academics, and Tsubasa is as likely to help Touma get distracted with cute cat videos as she is to actually  _ help _ him  _ study; _ no wonder she’s always forgetting when they have tests, or assignments due.

Still, he gets his grades back up, and he feels a lot more...settled, for having spent some time with his friends. Cain chidingly tells him not to let himself get so bad again, and Touma promises he won’t, making sure to set aside time for his friends in between his jobs, as much as he can possibly squeeze out.

“Are you getting enough sleep, Touma?” Itsuki asks him one afternoon, frowning at him over the ice cream Touma had bought for him, and Touma has to resist the urge to sink into his seat and  _ groan. _ Not  _ another _ thing he needs to manage juggling to keep Itsuki off of his back!

Cain snorts inelegantly at the back of his mind.  _ You  _ do _ need sleep, Touma, _ he points out, deep amusement reverberating.

_ I get plenty of sleep! _ Touma protests. He can’t even remember the last time he didn’t go flop in his bed after dinner and pretty much immediately pass out; it’s been forever since he’d pulled an all nighter.

_ Perhaps, _ Cain says delicately,  _ you are not getting enough sleep to keep up with all your lifestyle demands of you. _

_ There are only twenty-four hours in a day,  _ Touma reminds Cain, trying not to be bitter.

“Video games,” he says to Itsuki, and tries not to feel hurt when his friend immediately believes him and rolls his eyes, telling Touma that he really needs to be more responsible. It’s  _ good _ that Itsuki believes his lies, after all. He doesn’t  _ want _ Itsuki getting suspicious and poking his nose into something potentially dangerous, because when it really comes down to it, Touma is stupidly bad at saying no to his best friend.

He tells himself it’s for the best. It’s all to keep Itsuki -- and Tsubasa -- safe.

And then One of Millennium happens, and Itsuki’s phone call rings through; Itsuki’s voice thick with fear and confusion and dread, and Touma knows that he has failed, for all his efforts and suffering and his one dearest wish, he has completely and utterly  _ failed. _

It’s a heavy blow, but it’s not one he can take time to recover from. Itsuki’s phone is dead, unable to be contacted, and Touma knows what that means --

Cain is  _ urgency _ in the back of his mind, and so Touma grits his teeth, and goes out to do his damn job. 

He tries not to think about what it will mean for his friends -- for Itsuki and Tsubasa, two of his more important people -- if he fails in this, too.

The air in the Idolasphere feels heavier than usual, and Touma’s not sure if that’s something that’s actually real or something that his anxiety is pushing onto him -- there’s no time to worry about it, though, as he pulls his Carnage Form around him and decides he doesn’t have time to waste on smaller enemies. Or on running.

He revs his bike, and prays and prays and  _ prays _ he’ll find Itsuki and Tsubasa before trouble does.

Of course, because his life sucks, he finds them right where he doesn’t want them: in the middle of trouble. They sparkle in his vision, wrapped up in Carnage Forms of their own, their Mirages a dizzying haze Touma can just barely see when he looks through Cain’s eyes, and he feels it. That deep, dreadful stab of  _ failure. _

He failed to keep them safe. He failed to keep them clueless --  _ innocent. _ And now that they’ve been dragged into this mess, they’ll never be either of those things again.

Itsuki’s voice breaks through his spiralling melancholy, and there’s no  _ time _ to be getting down in the dumps. The three of them fly into battle, and Touma tries so, so hard not to think about how they work so much better as a team than he ever did alone.

In the end, once all is said and done, Itsuki and Tsubasa take the news that there’s a whole hidden world out there better than Touma could have expected them to. Actually, they seem more upset about the fact that Touma’s been keeping it from them for so long.

Well, Tsubasa seems upset. When Touma feels Itsuki’s eyes fall on him, he could swear it’s  _ concern _ that Itsuki’s sending his way.

Given how Itsuki immediately jumps up to walk Touma home, that might be more accurate a guess than Touma’s willing to admit to. The two of them -- four, he supposes, if you count their Mirages (and Cain is being conspicuously silent) -- walk quietly down the winding streets that will lead to Touma’s place. They take it slow, and the silence just starts to weigh heavier; Touma isn’t speaking because he doesn’t know what to say, but he has no idea what Itsuki’s issue is.

“This whole time,” Itsuki says finally, “you’ve been keeping this secret from us?”

Touma fidgets. “Well -- yeah,” he mumbles, shamefaced, and scowls when Cain snorts. “Oh, you shut up,” he hisses.

Itsuki blinks. “What?”

Touma backpedals for an explanation. “No, not you -- Cain. I was talking to Cain!”

Itsuki blinks again, and his expression clears. “Your...Mirage, right?” His expression turns considering. “Does he talk a lot? Chrom’s barely taken a break between sentences.” His gaze is amused, distant, as he addresses an inner voice Touma can’t hear, not out here in reality. “You know I’m right.”

“Cain’s talkative when he wants to be,” Touma says easily. “But eh, he’s not that bad. Now, when it comes to poor Caeda and Tsubasa --”

Itsuki cracks a grin. “It’s going to be  _ Caeda  _ wondering if her partner ever shuts up.”

They both laugh, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed.

And then the laughter fades, and Itsuki’s face goes solemn and serious once more, and Touma can’t ignore that for all his efforts, everything has.

“You’ve been carrying a lot, haven’t you,” Itsuki murmurs. It isn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Touma croaks out, struck by a sudden wave of emotion at how gentle Itsuki’s tone is.

“And yet...you don’t seem happy,” Itsuki continues, “that we’re here now, to help you carry that weight.”

For a long moment, Touma can only stare at him. “I just wanted to keep you safe,” he says.

Itsuki smiles a sad smile, and fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief. It isn’t until he’s using it to wipe away Touma’s tears that Touma realises he was crying at all.

“You can still keep me safe,” he says, and laughs. 

Touma shakes his head. “It isn’t that  _ same,” _ he protests. “Now -- now you’re going straight into danger --”

Itsuki tugs him into a hug. “Now I can stop worrying about  _ you _ so much, Touma,” he says, and if his voice is light, his grip absolutely isn’t. “You can watch my back, and I’ll watch yours. It isn’t fair of you to expect me to stay safe while  _ you _ go running off into danger.”

Touma can’t help the sob that breaks out. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

They pull apart, and Itsuki politely looks away as he gives Touma a minute to regather his composure, which is nice, because Touma knows his friend is only doing it for him -- Itsuki couldn’t care less about seeing Touma look as messy and uncool as he absolutely does, now.

“Feel better?” Itsuki asks, as they start walking once more.

“I -- yeah,” Touma says, realising it’s true  _ as _ he says it. “Yeah, I do.” A pause. “Thank you, Itsuki.”

A smile. “For you? Any time.” 


End file.
